


Five Ways Spike/Buffy Didn't Happen

by soundingsea



Category: Buffyverse
Genre: F/M, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-07
Updated: 2007-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundingsea/pseuds/soundingsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wishverse, roadtrip, amnesia, mortality, reunion: five ways Spike/Buffy didn't happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Ways Spike/Buffy Didn't Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Backup for pennydrdful in cindergal and kellyhk's [Welcome Back to the Hellmouth Kinkathon](http://kellyhk.livejournal.com/144064.html). Challenge requirements at the end.  
> Spoilers: "Chosen", "Not Fade Away"  
> Thanks: to pukajen, rainkatt, spiralleds, and xanphibian for beta-reading various drafts. All mistakes are my own.

###### one

Hitchhiking all the way to California on a mission of mercy lands Buffy on the losing end of a war and the wrong side of some steel bars. No justice in this world but what you make with your fists. Too bad this "Master" knows better than to pay his pet Slayer a visit.

She eats the sorry excuse for food his minions slide between the bars, does push-ups in her cell, and sleeps a dozen times before they throw another prisoner in with her. All that cursing would sound really intimidating if he weren't some scrawny little British guy.

"Slayer," he says, all swaggering, like he's sizing her up to take her on.

"This is getting ridiculous. Fruit-punch-mouth sure likes locking up his own vamps." She doesn't have a stake, but if this one gives her any trouble she'll just twist that pencil neck 'til his head pops off.

"Not one of his, love. Only reason I bowed and scraped to the old bat was for my dark princess, and the useless sot couldn't help." At that last bit, the vampire chokes up like he's going to cry, which is totally awkward.

Buffy tries for comforting (which is so not her). "Er, don't call me love. Your, uh, princess wouldn't like that."

"You'd be surprised," the vampire says with a wink, and damn if that isn't the fastest emotional whiplash she's ever seen. But hey, he pulls it together, which is a relief. "So, name's Spike, and how's about we work together to get out of these less-than-stellar accommodations?"

Buffy isn't used to cooperative vampires, so she has to think about it for a minute. She stretches, yawns, and decides she can take him. "Okay, but once we're free, the truce is off."

"Right," Spike says, stretching the word out in sarcasm. "And then Bitty Slayer takes out the Big Bad and scarpers off to her mum, all safe and sound." From the way he says it, he thinks he's the Big Bad, which would be hilarious if they weren't in this cage.

"My mom's been dead for two years," Buffy tells him without thinking, and then mentally kicks herself. Why give the enemy ammo?

But he's surprisingly sympathetic, with those blue eyes and that expressive face that isn't vampy in the slightest. "I know how it feels," he says, tilting his head and looking at her like he's capable of caring.

It's been a long time since a guy has looked at her like that. Not that he counts as a guy, of course. "Hey, I've got a plan, Spike," she says, breaking the tension. "They want you to finish me off, right?"

"Killed two Slayers already," he boasts, obviously proud of this dubious accomplishment.

"Yeah, that makes me want to be best buddies." Buffy rolls her eyes. Casual is the watchword, but she makes a note: Spike-shaped vampire dangerous. (Duh.) "So let's pretend that you chowed down. That will probably make them open the cage."

"You're going to let me bite you?" he says, looking at her neck like it's a juicy, delicious Big Mac. Which, _yuck_. Though it would totally be hot if he were looking at her like that and _not_ thinking about food. And where did that come from?

"Of course not, you idiot. You can cut yourself and we'll use some of your blood to fake a bite wound. Then a little sparring to get their attention, and a pretend-dead me on the floor." She glares. "And don't even try anything when my eyes are closed, you hear me?"

He grumbles but seems to realize that it's their ticket out, so makes with the blood, biting his lip or cheek or something. It's cold and slippery when he dabs it on her neck.

"There you are," he says, before slowly licking his fingers, amused eyes on her the whole time.

Buffy resolves to hit the clubs and pick up a nice human boy once she's the hell out of dodge; stupid vampire probably knows exactly what effect he's having on her. And hey, time to let out some frustration.

To her delight, Spike gives as good as he gets; he's fun to fight, full of all-out enthusiasm. Her heart's racing from jump-kicks and dodging by the time she feigns collapse. Lying on the floor in a heap, she reminds herself that this, okay, admittedly hot and tough guy has killed two Slayers before her. This is not the time to notice a guy's bod.

Their awesome plan works, and once the cage is open they make short work of the moronic guards. Buffy welcomes the distraction from her thoughts. While Spike beats them up for her, she breaks a chair and gets to staking.

"Why do vampires use wooden furniture, anyhow?" she asks, as Spike kicks a minion into her path and she stakes it.

"Too daft to know better," he says.

They kick some more ass on the way out of the Bronze. Buffy looks for other cages of people, but there aren't any on the straightest route out. And she's not enough of a humanitarian to go looking.

Heading through Sunnydale at a pursuit-foiling speed, they pass abandoned warehouses and well-barricaded office buildings. Spike keeps up easily, loping at her side, coat flaring out behind him. They're alone by the time they make it to the highway out of town.

"So, you gonna slay me?" he asks. The bravado is gone, now that he's seen her in action.

"One less vampire. Makes my job that much easier." Really, she's not at all sure. Be a shame, really. Kinda a waste.

"Not much of a Slayer, are you?" His taunt has no teeth in it, his voice softening. "Got caught."

She steps out onto the damp asphalt and peers away from Spike into the distance. Headlights flicker in a familiar pattern, her ticket home.

"We almost won. My team raided the grand opening. If that Angel hadn't gotten himself staked, he might have been enough help to change things."

"Angel," Spike says in a choked voice, almost sobbing like maybe that Angel guy was his dark princess, which would actually explain a lot.

Time for this, then. She whirls toward him, stake in hand, but he's already upon her, a hand across her face and one pinning her shoulder. He lowers his distorted face to her neck where it's marked already by dried blood.

"For Dru," he says through his fangs, like that's supposed to mean something to her, and then he bites.

 

###### two

 

Spike turns to look into the back seat of the DeSoto. "It's a rule of the road, Bit. Driver picks the music."

"But do you have to pick stuff that sucks?" Dawn says. "What's wrong with boy bands? You like the Ramones, and they're basically a boy band."

The brakes screech as Spike feigns a heart attack. "What are you teaching your baby sis, Slayer? I think someone else will have to take over her musical education."

Buffy, who totally stole shotgun, laughs like she actually remembers how. "_Dawn_? Listen to _me_? Yeah, that'll happen."

Dawn can't help but crack a smile. That was probably Spike's devious plan all along. Make her smile, save her life, protect her friends from Glory by taking off with her and Buffy. You know, typical evil vampire stuff.

Dawn uses a bottlecap to scrape a hole in the black paint so she can look out the window. The low, scrubby desert brush sails by at way-over-any-speed-limit miles per hour. Away from home, away from danger, away from being the Key.

Dawn imagines that this is a family vacation like the kind she's never really had. Buffy and Spike talk quietly in the front seat, and she pretends that it's about scenic overlooks and greasy-spoon diners instead of Slayer stuff and hellgods. Buffy's sitting pretty close to Spike, who's got his arm on the back of the long bench seat. It looks cozy. Dawn relaxes against the window.

When she closes her eyes, the windows aren't covered in black paint, and they're driving towards something fun instead of away from something awful. This is what safe feels like.

One disorienting blink later, it's dark and they're stopped at a gas station. Spike fills up the tank while Buffy and Dawn visit the (amazingly clean) bathroom. Then Buffy tries on bug-eyed monster sunglasses while Dawn considers a disposable camera. This is her first real road trip, and she might even live long enough to develop the film.

Buffy checks out first, with necessities like food, water, and hideous fashion accessories. By the time Dawn gets back to the car, Buffy's already there, leaning against the hood with Spike. Buffy's looking skinnier than ever, and Dawn is worried for her. She's glad Spike is with them; he won't let Buffy be all Solitary Hero the way she does.

Dawn readies her new camera and comes in for a stealth shot. Spike's leaning in, murmuring in Buffy's ear. Buffy's hand rests on his, her thumb tracing concentric circles. They're wrapped up in each other and don't notice her.

Dawn takes their picture, freezing this perfect moment forever. She wants to remember everything.

 

###### three

 

Slayer's been out of her grave three days now and still doesn't know her own name. Spike curses the Scoobies for doing this to her. They must know they did wrong by their friend, since now it's all quiet muttering about spells and hushing up whenever Spike approaches. Dawn's the only one who'll come to the back porch and talk to Spike. Poor girl washes and dresses Buffy each night, but can't make her stay.

Buffy sleep-walks, eyes open but unseeing. The first night, she's back at that accursed tower. Spike's prepared to stop her climbing, but she doesn't try. The next night she wanders to the cemetery, passing her mum's grave without slowing and staring into the mist like it knows secrets it isn't telling.

But tonight, she stumbles outside the Bronze, gait uncertain on the broken pavement of the alley. Spike hangs back-- too far back, because Buffy meets up with some misguided tough who wants money or sex or some foolishness.

Before Spike can stop her, Buffy reaches out, pretty as you like, and snaps the mugger's wrist. His gun clatters to the ground, echoing to wake the dead; his scream doesn't attract any attention as he flees. This is Sunnydale, and the Slayer's been a robot all summer. Town's got plenty of trouble.

This Slayer, though, is all too real, even if she doesn't know it. Spike focuses on her and finds that she's holding the gun, turning it over in her hands before lifting it to her head. Jumping out of the shadows and into the dim light of the streetlamp, Spike cries, "Buffy, no!"

More aware, yeah, but she also seems more resolute, pressing the shiny barrel against her temple in an obscene movement.

"Dawn needs you!" Spike tries. He leaps for her, knocking the gun out of her hands.

When attacked, she starts moving less like a revenant and more like a slayer, scissoring her legs and dropping them both to the ground. "Vampire," she says, exhaling onto his lips.

"Friend," he counters, flinging his weight to the side and temporarily gaining the advantage.

Buffy's hair spills on the dirty ground. She's as lovely as she's ever been, stirring desire in him. Sensing his weakness, she rolls atop him, straddling him, leaning forward as if searching his face for truth.

"Spike?" she asks. Hesitant, then more certain. "Spike!" Recognition blossoms in her face. Marred by a deep loss, yeah, but she knows him, knows herself.

He smiles and opens his mouth to welcome his Slayer home. Her kisses are peppermint and sunlight.

 

###### four

 

Spring in Ohio means warm breezes and apple blossoms. It also means that the moles get a little too excited about tunneling under the orchard, so the ground is a bit treacherous. Buffy takes Spike's arm as they stroll to their favorite picnic spot.

"Perfect day. Guess those cloud-seeding blokes finally know what they're about," Spike says.

He leans on the silver-headed cane their grandson found in a vintage shop. Buffy's pretty sure he doesn't really need it, but they don't want him to fall again. The winter of '63 proved that Spike makes a terrible invalid.

Once they reach the old tree, Buffy settles to the ground and opens the picnic basket. "Vegetables. I'm impressed," says Buffy. "But weren't we supposed to have food in pill form by now?" She grins.

Spike smiles, his face lined by years of happiness. "I'm an old man, love; think I'm taking enough pills." He carefully lowers himself to sit next to Buffy and takes a sandwich from the basket.

They eat and talk, and it's as if the years aren't past but present, all of time happening at once, pain buffered in joy. Giles and Ethan are long dead, Xander and Willow and Dawn scattered to their own lives, Faith...

"I wish Faith could have lived to be a grandma too," Buffy says.

"She didn't want to retire," Spike points out. "You let the Slayer burden pass, but she couldn't."

Buffy sips lemonade and curls up under Spike's arm. "Do you ever miss it?"

"What?" he asks, but his eyes twinkle and she knows he understands.

Still, she has to find the right way to describe how things were in those heady days. She discards a few ideas before settling on, "Being a superhero."

Spike's eyes unfocus and he looks at the distant horizon. Gone for a moment, then he's back with her, shaking his head. "Never would have believed it, but popping out of that amulet a mortal man was the best thing could ever happen to me. How about you?"

Buffy remembers that feeling of destiny, the charge she could never lay down, the spell that was not broken but changed by Willow all those years ago. With every generation of girls awakening into their powers, tenuous threads stretched out from Buffy until she was merely a small part of a wide net. Nobody notices when a single stitch drops out.

"I'm right where I want to be," she says.

The apple tree's canopy rustles in the breeze. Sunlight scattered by wide leaves illuminates their faces.

 

###### five

 

Smashing the snarl off a mottled-green demon's face, Spike ducks to avoid a swipe from some nasty-looking claws. Angel's at his back, dancing with that dragon in a way not recommended for flammable types such as themselves. Only the tight quarters in the alley have prevented the dragon from launching an aerial flame-throwing assault-- small comfort, since teeth and claws are quite sufficient.

Angel's holding his own, though, so Spike brings an elbow down just so on the lizardy fellow and banishes him to the growing heap of twitching corpses. One more down, far too many to go. A flash of blue; Illyria's still in the fray. Not so Charlie-boy. He's underfoot somewhere; took two G'Rmoeth with him, though. And thinking on that's got Spike distracted enough so his head is almost lopped off by something with slimy pincers. As it is, the glancing blow leaves him seeing things...

Back in the Barcalounger days, Spike watched a lot of mid-90s sci-fi, bad special effects and all. He knows dying and he knows jump gates, and damned if this doesn't look more like the latter. Blue bands of pressurized air throw beasties hither and yon, tearing a hole in reality, and out of the rift comes a whole boatload of girls.

If it were possible he'd say they all fight like slayers, every one chopping and hacking. And no wonder; at the forefront of the horde is his golden warrior. Buffy stuns the lobster demon with a roundhouse to the carapace, then kicks it into a crowd of its brethren. Spike leans heavily, hands on knees. Even a vampire can reach the end of his endurance. If Buffy hadn't appeared-- (And has she? Or is this the mad hallucination of a mind skating at the edge of the abyss?)

No, this is real. Spike remembers that preternatural strength, the feel of her tiny hands on him, merciless and tender. She touches him now, sense memory flaring, less and more than he remembered. She meets his eyes, hers welling up with emotion. It's not surprise (and what measure of secrecy did he really expect from Andrew) and it's not anger (though she'd have the right). Before either of them can speak, a blast of bright yellow flame sears the edge of his vision.

Buffy doesn't take her hand off his cheek. He sees her eyes flick to the side, and he follows suit. They watch as Faith stands over Angel, stabbing at the dragon with that shiny fire axe Team Buffy kept calling a scythe. Right about now, Spike thinks Dragonsbane will do. Shiny and hypnotic, the blade flashes and blood rains across his field of vision. Illyria stands in the spray, looking more the god than ever. She shimmers and melts into an impressionist blur.

Spike's looking up at Buffy from miles away. She towers over him, which is just not right. But lying down is comforting; the ground is a deal steadier than his feet. Not alone, because Angel's down here too, head cradled in Faith's lap. Buffy crouches, whispering in Faith's ear and laying a hand on Angel's forehead. Then she sits next to Spike, trails a hand along his face as if disbelieving.

As she kisses him, the carnage all around them collapses into this moment. Her kisses speak forgiveness and longing, love and need.

Only her. Only now.

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge requirements: Spuffy with fic kinks all-human, AUs, road trips, amnesia, reunions. Three elements: betrayal with a member of the opposite sex &amp; making up; gun to the temple; something vintage. No character bashing or claims


End file.
